Short Story: Queen Bee

I am only BEGINNING this. I am floating some things in my head. What do you think so far? I am trying to write short stories. They may not be very good because they are fast and rarely edited. I would love feedback regardless – what do you like? What confuses you? Do you like the POV or should it have been different? To anyone who gives me feedback – THANK YOU. The heater was broken. Again. Because of that, the ship was creaking. Sounds in space echo in a strange way. Not the way of sound in an atmosphere by bouncing off something, instead the sound just stays in place, repeating itself. The crew had thermal suits on at all times, which led to a smell of body odors across the ship. Depending on the area, it might have the tang of singed fur, the sulfuric fumes from the reliquins, or the plain stink of humans. In this atmosphere,

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Short Story: Night Stalker

I am trying to write short stories. They may not be very good because they are fast and rarely edited. I would love feedback regardless – what do you like? What confuses you? Do you like the POV or should it have been different? To anyone who gives me feedback – THANK YOU. “Are you ready?” I asked. A nod in response. I slowly stood, it was our first night on solo patrol and even knowing this was one of the safer districts, I was nervous. I stepped off the roof, my partner spreading his wings to lead the way. I moved carefully along the street, enjoying the quiet of the night. Most houses had shuttered their windows, but a few had flickering lights escaping curtains. One showed the silhouette of a man hunched over a desk. I stepped over a cart with a late night pastry seller, careful not to let myself cause even too much wind. He didn’t

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Short Story: Becoming

I am trying to write short stories. They may not be very good because they are fast and rarely edited. I would love feedback regardless – what do you like? What confuses you? Do you like the POV or should it have been different? To anyone who gives me feedback – THANK YOU. The prickle of the pine cone made her shift, sliding the offending matter out from next to her, poking into her bare thigh. She looked up at the tree and slowly took a deep breath. She picked up the ice carefully in one hand and brought it hard across her other. The sharp tang of blood filled the air. The rivulet poured down her forearm. She used the wounded hand to slice her other hand, blood now running down both wrists and pooling in front of her knees. She kept silent, placing both bleeding palms on the largest root she could find. The metallic scent of blood

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In the Inn

This is a short story based on a DnD character I am playing. She is a hobbit paladin – and this is how she turned from simple soldier to god-blessed warrior of…. justice? I don’t even think it’s great fiction, but this is me trying to get into Lavinia’s head a little more. Lavinia held the almost mug of ale in her hand, but for once she wasn’t getting a second drink. She wasn’t merry. She wasn’t in the middle of celebrating life. Thirty years she had spent in the guard. It’s what she was good at. She definitely didn’t want to return to the family farm again. She sighed heavily. “That was a big sigh for such a small stature,” a friendly tenor said, pushing a fresh mug in front of her. A man sat down on the bench beside her, his tankard also full. “Yeah well…” Lavinia took the new mug and took a drought. It was good,

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Monster Manifestation

I sat down hard. Hard enough I felt the metal of the chair against hip bones. Granted, I don’t have much to protect those bones any more. I thought I couldn’t be surprised any more. I thought I had passed through all the crucibles they could put me through. I didn’t think I could still feel hope. My eyes fixed to the screen which outlined the form standing beside my bed. I noticed the translucence of my face on the camera, the bones almost visible through my skin. When the figure on the video reached out and touched my arm I instinctively reached and touched the same spot. It still hurt. “You see we were right.” I frowned, hating that voice with a depth I hadn’t known I could feel. I refused to look away from the screen in front of me. I leaned in to try to focus on the figure on the screen as if being closer would

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Short Story: Mastermind or Not?

I look out over the city.  There are cheers.  I hate it. You see, the problem is that I tried to be a villain.  I never actively tried to help people.  In fact, the problem with my city was the morass of super-heroes.  It was actually a problem because you had “heroes” like Betsy Bobcat – a literal bobcat that had been given human intelligence.  Her thing was people illegally feeding pigeons.  Did you know it was illegal to intentionally feed pigeons?  I didn’t.  Then there was the strongarm-super-fast Mr. Thumbs.  Something about his thumbs was special I guess.  He was annoyingly particular about people speeding through lights. I hated them.  I hated that one of the speedsters gave my dad a jaywalking ticket and when my dad tried to argue it in court he was given 30 days in jail for “anti-superhero actions.”  A misdemeanor that not only lost him his accounting job but made it nearly impossible to find

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Short Story: Dragon Drops

The bookshop was really just one of these hole-in-the-wall places, a door between two bright, shiny businesses.  The window was stacked with books, hiding everything inside. There was a posterboard that read “All Trade Paperbacks, $1” in front of the four towers of crappy paperback books – mostly romance novels from the scrawling letters – which balanced in the window. The woman who entered this day was not tall, not beautiful, and not dressed up. Wearing jeans and a shirt that read “Talk N Er Dy to me” with the periodic symbols for Nitrogen, Erbium, and Dysprosium for the Nerdy spelling. It was a little loose and around her waist was tied the arms of a hoodie. Behind the counter the proprietor raised his head without opening his eyes.  His sharp teeth gleamed as he said, “I think you might be lost ma’am.” “I hope not,” she replied, turning in a slow circle to take in the shelves of precariously stacked shelved. “Where

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Short Story: Wind chimes

Staring out the window was hardly the most productive use of time, but it’s all Cordy wanted to do today.  It was just cloudy enough to be gloomy, with a pallor that it might rain any moment.  It was just cold enough to make a t-shirt too light and a sweater too heavy.  In all, it was the worst sort of day in her opinion. On the other hand, it was exactly the kind of weather which was most useful to her particular brand of magic.  In those moments before the rain broke, the equilibrium of the world hung in balance and if she could time everything right, Cordy could change the world. Most witches had to use potions or long complicated spells.  Cordy had spent years struggling with why sometimes her spells were powerful and sometimes they didn’t work at all.  It had been something of an accident when she figured out she was linked to the weather. She had

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Writing: Mary Sue

I stood up in the crowd of people. They noticed me. I pushed back against the bully to protect someone. I won. I feel no pain. No fear. My rage is always completely justified. My love is always true and pure. I can wield any weapon I desire. I can drive any vehicle. All the skills are mine. Does any writer NOT struggle against the Mary Sue/ Gary Stu conundrum? I think I would like to gather the Mary Sue/Gary Stu stories of famous authors and put them into a book. How many choose Star Wars? Star Trek? Harry Potter? Firefly? Would there be cross-overs? I mean, how cool would it be to see JK Rowling write her fanfic in Discworld or to see Neil Gaiman put his Gary Stu into the Wheel of Time or Middle Earth?  Just to see what some of the “big” authors would choose and where they would go… much less how they would portray

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Short Story: Walking Alive

I stumbled into the house, my wrist throbbing. I went to the bathroom first. I know it’s useless, but 28 years of cleaning cuts aren’t broken in a day. An hour? Anyway, I clean out the wound and wrap some gauze around my wrist. I weave my way past the boxes of dry goods I’ve collected. Damn and I just found that pallet of fruit loops too. My favorite. It took me a whole day to get that pallet back here. I go into the living room and pull out paper and pens. I want to leave some notes for people. I don’t know if mom will get this letter, it’s been years since I saw her, but I have to hope. Hope is all that kept me going this long. I finish the letter to my parents and write some letters to some of my new friends. I want to let them know how sorry I am. I failed and

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